Beautifully Damaged (9 page)

"I'll catch you, Ember, I won't let you fall."

He reached for my hand and linked our fingers.

"Let's get you home."

A week passed and I hadn't seen Trace once. I knew it was intentional. I knew he was trying to put distance between us. I did, however, run into his friend Rafe. That I just happened on him in Starbucks made me wonder if it wasn't a coincidence.

"Hi, Ember."

"Hi, Rafe. How's Loki?"

"Trouble." He said that with a grin. As I watched him his smile faded before he asked, "Can we talk?"

"Sure."

Rafe walked me to a table and held my chair before folding himself into the chair opposite me.

He seemed to take an unusual interest in the surface of the table so I asked, "What's up, Rafe?"

He lifted his eyes to mine before he said, "I wanted to talk with you about Trace."

A wave of unease spread through me at the seriousness of his expression before I said, "Okay."

"I've known Trace for a long time. He's a complicated man but I have noticed a difference in him these past few weeks and I can only attribute the change to you."

My voice was whisper-soft when I asked, "A good change or a bad one?"

He held my stare and grinned. "A good one, Ember, and that's why I'm going to share a bit of his past with you."

"Are you sure that you should?"

"Yes, it might help you understand him better."

He pulled a hand through his hair and stared pensively at me before continuing, "I met Trace when we were fifteen. He was in an alley pounding the shit out of some guy. I pulled him off and truly believe, if I hadn't, he would have killed the guy. I think he knew it, too."

"After that first meeting we started to hang. I think at first he saw me as his reality check, the one that would keep him from going too far. And it was true, I was, since almost every time we were out he would end up in a fight."

"There was so much anger in him, a rage that was nearly uncontrollable. I didn't know then and I still don't, what fuels it, but it was nearly the death of him. He knew that he needed a better way to vent his anger so he found an outlet by fighting willing opponents."

I paled and knew that I had since I felt all the blood drain from my face remembering Trace in the parking lot and the level of rage in him. The idea of him in some abandoned warehouse pounding the shit out of people scared me. "What like Brad Pitt,
Fight Club
, fighting?"

"No, not really. The fights are legal, held in a little hole-in-the-wall gym. There's a ref, even judges, but the method of fighting is up to the fighters, gloved or bare-knuckled. It works for him and it's helped him channel his anger. It gives him a release."

I had already known that he was a fighter but I was disturbed to learn that he fought not for the love of it or for the money but as a release for his rage. What in his past fueled it?

"This thing -- it isn't just rage in him, Ember. He also has a deep-rooted belief that he's a piece of shit. He doesn't think he's good enough for you and at some point he's going to push you away. I hope when he does, if you feel something for him, too, that you won't let him."

"I do feel something for him, Rafe, and I really like being with him." I tilted my head and studied him for a moment before I asked, "Does he know you're here?"

"No."

"Last week, I saw a bit of that rage and I won't lie; it scared me but there's so much more to him than anger. I don't think Trace realizes how much he has to offer. I like him a lot and I want to see where it goes -- whatever it is that's between us."

Rafe's smile in response was beautiful.

After my talk with Rafe, the phone calls started. It wasn't every night but several times a week, Trace would call me and we'd talk for hours. I hadn't seen him, he hadn't come around but I found that I really liked talking with him on the phone since he seemed more at ease. We didn't talk about his past or his family but he spoke more openly about everything else. Whether he realized it or not, our talks were very revealing, exposing a side to Trace Montgomery that few get to see.

Two weeks after my talk with Rafe, I was sitting in my living room and my thoughts drifted to Trace, as they had a habit of doing. He was a puzzle to me. I knew his reputation but I didn't see him the way others did like the man that Luke described on that first night at Sapphire. When I looked at Trace, I saw a man who repeatedly did things for others, helping me out of a few scrapes, coming to the aid of that woman at the gallery, attending charity functions to help those in need. I saw a man who could look at the depiction of a soul in torment and relate.

I was beginning to suspect that Trace's image was not just a product of his low self-esteem but a means to keep people from looking too deeply at him. I saw a glimpse into the man underneath that hard shell and I liked that man -- a lot. Yes, I suspected he was a damaged soul but he was a beautiful one, too. I wanted to believe that Trace avoided seeing me because of his poor self-image but I also wanted to believe that he called because he felt it too -- the connection.

I missed him and as much as I looked forward to his phone calls, they weren't enough for me. I wanted to see him so I grabbed my phone and called Rafe.

"Hello."

"Rafe, it's Ember."

"Hi, Ember. How are you?"

"I'm okay. I want to see him. Do you think that's a bad idea."

"No, I think it's a great idea. He's been a bit of a prick lately."

"What?"

He chuckled over the line before he added, "He wants to see you, too."

I couldn't lie, those words made me feel really good but then I sobered when I asked, "Why hasn't he come around then?"

"You know why."

"Why does he think so poorly of himself?"

"I don't know, Ember. I know there's some really bad shit in his past but he's never shared that with me."

"Do you know if he's home..." I could almost not get the rest of the sentence out since I was afraid of the answer "...and if he's alone?"

"Yeah, he's home alone. Let me give you his address and thanks, Ember."

"...for what?"

"...caring about him."

When the cab pulled up in front of Trace's building, I was surprised to see that we were in a really nice section of the city. I climbed from the cab, paid the man, and headed up the steps to the door. I made my way to the fourth floor and down the hall to his apartment. I stopped at his door and took a few deep breaths. I couldn't believe I was here -- that I was actually at a man's apartment. I had never in my life gone to a man's apartment but this wasn't just any man, this was Trace, and so I knocked.

The door opened and Trace filled the space. The look of surprise on his face had me feeling both happy and sad.

"Ember, what are you doing here?"

I held his incredulous stare and answered with all honesty, "I wanted to see you."

His reply, and the manner in which he said it, broke my heart because it was clear that he was unaccustomed to people visiting him for the sole purpose of just wanting to see him.

"Why?"

"I missed you."

He just stood there and I think he may have been in shock.

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, sorry, please come in." He stepped back so I could enter and when I got a good look at his apartment I smiled since it wasn't at all what I was expecting. Though it was sparsely decorated, it was done so with quiet taste. Charcoal-gray walls and walnut floors covered with a Persian rug in deep earth-tones were the backdrop for the masculine living room comprised of a cognac-colored leather sofa, dark-oak coffee table and TV armoire. The kitchen was against the left wall before the long hallway that led, I'm guessing, to the bedrooms and bath.

As I moved into the living room I noticed the walls were bare. There were no pictures of his family or friends and I realized that his walls symbolized his life. He had people around him all the time but no one that mattered, no one that he cared about, no one he loved and he didn't because he hadn't let anyone get close enough.

I felt the tears but I didn't let them fall and instead turned to him and smiled and said, "I like your place."

He was leaning against the door with the strangest expression on his face.

"What's wrong, Trace?"

"I can't believe you're here."

"Do you want me to go?"

He moved from the door and walked over to me to take my hand into his. The look in his eyes had my toes curling before he replied, "No."

He led me to the kitchen before he released my hand.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Do you have hot tea?"

He looked at me from over his shoulder as a grin tugged at his mouth. "No, how about coffee?"

"Perfect."

I sat and watched as he started the coffee and then he turned to me, leaned against the counter and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as a grin tugged at his mouth.

"I guess I don't need to call you later."

I gave him a saucy smile before I replied, "I've always preferred face-to-face myself."

We settled in his living room with each of us at opposite ends of the sofa but turned so we could face each other. He still had a funny expression on his face which prompted me to ask, "Are you upset that I'm here?"

It was surprise that flashed over his face in response before he said, "No, I just can't figure out why you'd want to come here."

I tilted my head and studied him. "Are you kidding?"

"I'm completely serious."

"I like you, Trace. I came because I missed looking at you -- being with you."

A smile touched his lips but the look of disbelief in his eyes hadn't passed my notice. I wanted to ask why he found it so hard to believe that I wanted to be here but I was too busy soaking up the sight of him. He looked so comfortable, almost relaxed, and the sight of that gave my heart a happy sigh. He was beautiful and what made him so beautiful to me was the vulnerable man underneath that handsome face.

"What are you thinking about?" Trace asked which pulled me from my silent study of him.

"You."

There it was, again, surprise flashing across his face. I couldn't imagine what happened to make him hate himself so much. I'd ask but it wasn't the time so I sought to change the subject.

"So a single man doesn't keep tea in the house?"

Humor danced in his eyes before he replied, "Not this man but since I know you like it, I will."

The warmth that burned through me in response to that was completely involuntary. I held his gaze as I smiled. "I like Earl Grey with lavender honey."

"I'll have it for the next time."

So there was going to be a next time; this was progress. The silence stretched out for a few minutes as we just stared at each other. I wanted to crawl over to him and curl up into his lap. I wanted to rest my head on his chest and wrap my arms around him but I managed to control that impulse.

"So, Trace, there's something I've been wanting to talk with you about. It's been bothering me since we spoke last." I leaned up as I held his direct gaze and asked, "How is it possible that you haven't seen Christian Bale as Batman?"

It took him a minute before a smile spread over his face as he pulled his hands behind his head.

"Never found the time."

"You must make time for movies."

He held my gaze as he asked, "Are you willing to watch them again?"

"With you?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely!"

"Done."

I smiled as I curled my legs up under me. "What are your thoughts on aliens?"

His expression in response to that was priceless; he looked completely confused. "I don't have thoughts on aliens."

"Interesting...dogs or cats?"

He grinned before he offered, "Dogs -- big dogs, not those yappy dogs."

"Agreed. Deep frying a turkey...good or bad idea?"

"If done right, it's probably really good."

"I agree but I'm not brave enough to attempt it. I'd probably end up with third degree burns all over. What do you think about Turducken?"

"Tasty or not, no bird deserves that end."

I laughed -- couldn't help it -- at the feigned seriousness of his expression.

"McDonalds or Burger King?"

"McDonalds."

"Coke or Pepsi?"

"Coke."

"Snickers or Milky Way?"

"Snickers."

I turned more fully to him before I said, "Okay, the questions are going to get more personal. If I get too personal, just say."

He moved then, closer to me, which made my heart rate speed up before he said, "Okay."

"What do you think of Scrappy Doo?"

He looked at me for a minute before he threw back his head and laughed; the sound was beautiful. His eyes found mine again before he offered, "I don't see the point in his character. He's annoying."

"I absolutely agree. Who's your favorite Avenger?"

"Hulk."

"The rage monster, interesting. Roman gods or Greek gods?"

"Greek."

"Who's your favorite of the Greek gods?"

He held my stare as some emotion I couldn't discern passed over his face before he said, "Hades."

"Barney?"

He shivered which was answer enough.

"Potato chips or pretzels?"

"Soft pretzels over potato chips but chips over hard pretzels."

I tapped my finger on my lips before I asked, "What are your thoughts regarding everything on a hot dog, I mean onions, ketchup, relish, mustard, cheese, chili, the works?"

"Delicious."

I grinned before I said. "I think so, too. Ginger or Mary Ann?"

He reached out and touched a lock of my hair before he said, "Mary Ann. I find I prefer brunettes with big, brown eyes." His finger brushed along my jaw before he added, "Actually, I prefer a brunette with big, brown eyes."

Desire -- pure and simple -- burned through me as I somehow managed to hold his heated gaze. His eyes moved to my lips where they lingered for a few moments before he lifted his eyes back to mine.

"What else would you like to know, Ember?"

I wanted to know if he felt it too -- the wild attraction and the connection. I couldn't ask him that though so we moved onto more television characters. I didn't know how long we sat there since time just seemed to slip by when I was with him. At one point, I fell asleep only to wake to the sight of Trace looking down at me. My pillow was his lap, a blanket was draped over me, and his fingers were lightly tracing my face. When I tried to sit up he wouldn't let me.